


Session 5 - The death of hope

by Munnin



Series: The Darthen Empire Campaign [7]
Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Animal Death, Bluebooking, Gen, No context outside the campaign, Other, RPG notes, campaign diary, please ignore unless you're playing this game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 13:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18895822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munnin/pseuds/Munnin
Summary: During the battle with the Death Sorcerer, Black Company suffered a devastating loss.





	Session 5 - The death of hope

**Author's Note:**

> Just to confuse things for people not in the group - Kazusa and Cass are the same person. She tends to switch from thinking of herself by Tien (Fantasy Japanese) name and the westernised version of it, depending on the context. 
> 
> Clear as mud? Cool.

Kazusa did not allow hope die. Not until the last. Part of her held out hope the tide would turn. That there would be a way. 

Even through the maelstrom she could see Piotr was in trouble, could see the outline of her friend’s form being struck and stuck again with the scythe.

And still she deluded herself to hope. 

Celeste had magics. And there were magics that could bring a person back from death. Or so she’d heard. 

And there was their hidden ally, whose bolts alas ran wide of their target. 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

She wanted to run in, to break cover and join the melee. But reason told her the crossbow in her hand was more powerful than the blades at her hip. And the healing potions in her obi were no use to anyone if she was not alive to bring them. 

She forced herself to stay hidden by the trees, knees clamped tight around the steed beneath her. 

And then the moment came. The moment that all hope died. The moment when the two halves of her friend’s body were thrown from the whirling nightmare. 

The air rushed from her lungs in a scream she bit down hard on. Her next shot flying wide as she rushed to reload. The storm around the melee was abating and she could see the damage the others had done, as well as her own bolts deep in its flesh. 

It seemed to her that the rest of the fight passed in a blur of cock, load, fire. Cock, load, fire. 

There it was, the monster speaking with the voice of a greater monster still. Spitting goading words at them before it became moats of ash floated back towards Verdun.

Cass’ eyes fell to Piotr, the parts of him flung wide. She rode out, grateful of the steed’s steady gate as her own leg would not have carried her. 

Her body felt weak and feverish. Grief and anger and loss turning her into a maelstrom of her own. 

“We can’t leave him.” The voice sounded alien to her, too raw and rough to be her own. And yet she knew she’d spoken. But in the moment, she couldn’t be sure what language it had been.

Either way Shino understood, dismounting to gather Piotr and wrap him tightly in a horse blanket. 

The thunder of the oncoming army was in their ears, even as they laid Piotr across Cass’ horse. But all she could hear was the roughness of her own breathing. 

And the absence of his. 

The world felt wrong without his laugher. 

There was the suffering of another to consider. 

Shinokishi’s horse was dying. Black foam bubbled at its nose, bile at its mouth. The poison was inside it and not even the potion in Shino’s hand seemed to help. 

The samurai looked to her and she saw the suffering in his storm blue eyes. The grief. 

And the need. The need for her confirmation. The need to be sure - sure there was no other way. 

Her eyes met his and she nodded, aware of the shine of tears behind the curve of his helmet. 

There was kindness in this. Rightness in the mercy of it. 

The horse too seemed to understand, lowering its head to the blow. 

Kazusa didn’t look away as the stroke fell, acting as witness to the compassion of a clean death. The flick of Shinokishi’s blade caught the light. The arch of blood as it fell away was oddly beautiful. 

The surrealness of that thought made Cass reel, aware the edges of her focus were blurring. 

But the sharp cock of Everett’s pistol bought her back to reality. 

The hidden ally, a rat-kin smaller still that Rastus stood a little way from them, the bridles of their spooked horses in hand.

She heard the Gunslinger’s snarl, saw the raised barrel. They neither of them liked or trusted the rebel emissary and it seemed that distrust had bled over for Everett. Perhaps in his own grief.

“He fought at our side.” Cass barked, the words coming hard and edged with steel, still foreign to her own ears. “Hold.” 

It seemed enough to stay his hand and Everett’s lowered the gun. He muttered about a book and mounted - chasing his own horse and its precious cargo into the treeline. 

Her mount seemed to know what to do and she leaned into it as it followed after Celeste, the others falling in with them. She closed her eyes and let it have its head. Letting the numbness creep into her heart as grief, like shock, shut her down. 

As they debated their next course, the Darthen Knights still hammering at their heels. Cass answered only briefly; her voice sluggish as the others argued. Remy, their new companion, offered them sanctuary. There was something about him – his mattered fur and thinness, the burns that scarred his cheek. Something distant and yet… perhaps compelling. Something she felt inclined to trust, at least for now. 

Celeste however, called for them to press on to their destination, a mission that seemed a lifetime ago.

Piotr’s lifetime ago. 

Either way, they were still missing Everett. And Cass could not take losing another today. In the end, the horses took command, blazing into the undergrowth and kneeling to let them down.

As the others dismounted, Cass hesitated, her hand on the heavy roll of blanket behind her. 

Piotr. 

They looked at her expectantly as the other horses took to their heels but she couldn’t move, couldn’t let go. 

“Please?” She begged the horse, even as it swished impatiently. “Don’t go. I can’t lose him again.” She could hear the shake in her voice, the edge of hysteria.

And yet, it all seemed so far away. As if another her had said it in another voice. This death had shattered her into separate parts. At once panicked and numb. Frantic and distant. Present and drifting. 

Shinokishi stepped to her side, taking the bundle in his arms as Jeff took Shino’s saddle. She slipped to the ground, as if bound to Piotr’s body by an invisible cord. Free of its burden the horse took off to join its fellows. 

Through a fog, she heard the others agree to double back, to hide their trail so the horses could lead the knights away. Numbly she stepped a few paces away, moving parallel to the group, oblivious that she had become invisible to them. She was at once unable to part with them and unable to be a part of them. Separated but bound. Adrift and tethered. 

They didn’t call her back, through Celeste craned around, seeing nothing but the shadows of the trees. 

It wasn’t till they came on Everett’s path that she stepped closer, letting herself come out into the light once more. His magical steed was fidgeting, eager to rejoin his herd, leaving them with the Gunslinger’s stallion to carry their fallen.

Cass fell into step once more, hand on the saddle strap, near but not quite touching the tightly wrapped bundle. 

She heard Celeste speak, something about finding somewhere to deal with their dead. 

Something in Celeste’s tone made Cass’ blood burn, anger towards the rebel agent catching at the edges of her grief. At once frozen and aflame.

Cass wanted to honour Piotr, wanted to do the right thing for her friend. But of all the things they had spoken of, they had never spoken of death. Of rites or ritual. Of proper action in such an event. 

‘ _Because he never thought of it._ ’ she mused distantly. ‘ _He lived in the moment, with no thought of later. Or after._ ’

But how to honour him? The way she and Shino both knew would not be practical here. There wasn’t time to take a night of vigil, to sit with him and remember him in silent prayer. There would be no way to light a pyre for him without the smoke marking their position. 

All they could do was find a peaceful place and dig a hole. To leave him alone in some anonymous cleaning away from the road. 

At least they could find somewhere with light. Piotr deserved to have the sun shine down on him. 

In silence and mutual agreement, they set to work. Jeff and Everett digging as Shinokishi and Cass arranged and rewrapped Piotr’s broken body. There was little that could be done to make him seem at peace, the violence of his death was too great for that. Blackness stained his lips and nose, the poison that had stolen his strength and lustre. 

Cass poured water on a cloth, cleaning Piotr’s face as best she could as Shino tore strips from the makeshift shroud to bind the mangled halves of his body together. 

Cass touched Shino’s shoulder; her voice almost too soft to hear. “His pants. The colours should show.” Not the drab blacks and greys but Piotr’s true colours. The reds and greens and yellows of his joyful heart. Shino nodded and did as asked, and in doing so found to scroll that held Piotr’s prized drawing. 

He held it out to her with a bow, the scroll resting across his open palms, his eyes lowered. 

There was so much to that, so much the others would never understand. 

In that simple gesture, Shinokishi acknowledged and honoured Kazusa’s loss, her connection to Piotr. The strength of their friendship and depths of her grief. He presented it to her as the one closest to Piotr, the one with most right to decide. The one who knew him best.

She bowed her head and accepted the scroll, tears welling in her eyes as she feeling the slightness of it against her fingertips. 

Such a small thing and yet it held such a weight of joy in it. The oiled canvas and parchment had protected the drawing. Not a drop of blood marring the children’s work. Taking one last look, she rerolled it and set in carefully inside Piotr’s breast pocket, over his heart. 

She looked away as they lowered him into the grave, focusing instead on the cross Celeste had made. For some reason it infuriated her. How dare this stranger presume to know what was right to mark the place? Celeste had not known Piotr, and never would. She had no right to this moment, no place in this farewell. Cass stalked over and removed the cross, dropping it onto the undergrowth. 

As she did, her eyes were caught by a cluster of paper daisies, hardy and blooming even against the dry season. There was something right about that. About the flowers that thrived even in hardship. Rather than picking them, Cass dug around the base, carefully lifting them out, roots and all. She held them while the grave was filled, kneeling to plant them at Piotr’s feet. 

She didn’t rise, even as the others said their words and made their peace.

Shinokishi removed his helmet and knelt at her side, setting his sheathed sword before him. He bowed deeply, pressing his forehead almost to his outstretched hands, holding himself there for some time. Lifting his head slowly, he remained there a while in silent respect. Rising, he took up his sword and turned away, facing towards the place of battle, making peace with his own loss.

The grace and stillness of his actions contrasted starkly against the others as they shuffled and spoke. Everett blowing smoke from his cigar as he joked about some of Piotr’s finest moments, making Jeff laugh as they passed a flask. 

It wasn’t disrespectful. Just… different. Two worlds honouring the loss of one life. 

Just outside the circle, Celeste and Remy stood awkward, intruders in this private moment. 

Stiltedly, uncomfortably, the moment passed. It was time to move on.

But Cass did not move. Could not move. She knelt at the foot of Piotr’s grave, her hands palm up on her knees and marked with dirt as she stared at the paper daisies. 

The others gathered their things, ready to head north. 

But still she didn’t move. Lost in some middle distance from which their words did not reach her. 

Shinokishi came to her, a hand on her arm as he spoke softly in Tien. “ _Kazusa, I apologise for interrupting, but we must go, we will return._ ”

She knew there could be no promise of that. They may never pass this way again. They may die in the next fight. Or the one after. The monster who torn Piotr from them might keep his word and drag them all into darkness. 

There was no certainty in this life but that it ended. 

As it had for Piotr. 

His hand on her elbow, another at her waist, Shinokishi lifted her to her feet. She didn’t fight him, but nor did her knees support her. 

“Here.” Jeff’s rumbling baritone. “Let me.” The fighter lifted her with ease, his gentle touch swinging her up onto his back. 

Her arms laced around his shoulder, her knees finding the narrowness of his waist. Letting her hair fall over her eyes, she buried her face in his neck. 

As they walked, trusting Jeff to carry her, Cass’ guard fell utterly. Though her shoulders never shook, no sobs wracked her body - her tears ran over. Almost cold compared to Jeff’s naturally hot skin, her tears fell and fell, staining patches into his shirt and armour. 

Little by little, step by step, she let grief flow. Letting the tide wash out and numbness of mind and body ebb. She turned her head as her tears ran dry, chin resting on Jeff’s shoulder as her hand curled against his armour. 

“Smoke.” She said softly, looking up into the sky. 

“And gunfire.” Everett nodded, looking over to her. “Cass, let’s go take a look.” 

She held the Gunslinger’s eye a moment, half expecting to see pity there. But what she found was understanding, and a need for action. Perhaps to postpone his own grief by helping her rise from hers. Either way, she accepted his offer.

Sliding down from Jeff’s back, she found herself wrapped in his arms as he turned to hug her. A hug they both lingered over. A grief of his own, much older than this day, that made him mighty in battle but gentle and kind in aspect. She leant into the embrace with a gratitude she knew she didn’t need to voice for him to hear. 

With a deep and steadying breath, the first she felt like she’d taken since the moment hope died, she loaded her crossbow and stepped lightly to the gunslinger’s side. 

There was the next fight. And then the next. And all the fights thereafter.

Till she could see Piotr’s smile again.


End file.
